Forbidden Fling (Wildwood 1)

On the sidewalk, Delaney and Avery paused to allow a jogger with a dog to pass while Phoebe greeted a new customer and disappeared inside. And as they reached the Jeep, Avery exhaled and looked over the roof at Delaney. “She’s perfected the art of the hard sell packaged in a powder puff.”

“Relentless.”

“She’ll get my pastries in the fridge, right?” Avery asked like a nervous mother dropping her newborn with a sitter for the first time. “Maybe I should just go do that really quick.”

“Oh, I promise that is the first thing she’ll do.” Delaney pulled open her door. “That woman is scheming to get you back here the same way she was me. She’s not going to blow that by forgetting something as crucial as taking care of the precious commodities that will make or break the success of that tasting party she whipped together for you.”

Avery smiled, and they both slid into the car.

Once Delaney had started toward The Bad Seed, she said, “That duffel had my mouth watering and my stomach growling. And it must have weighed seventy pounds.”

“Seventy-five. Hell to get in an overhead.”

“What in God’s name did you bring?”

“Everything I had on hand. Caramels, fudge, toffee, brownies, brittle, caramel corn, biscotti, cookies, various fruit and candy sheet bars, baklava, scones, truffles . . . I can’t remember what else. I’m going to whip up a few things I couldn’t travel with this afternoon—a few pies, éclairs, flan, cinnamon rolls—”

“Stop. Stop already. I think I’m getting diabetes over here.”

Avery pressed a hand to her stomach. “If no one shows up, they’re all coming back to your place, so you might just get diabetes.”

They’d spent the last two hours getting all of the apologies and regrets and forgiveness out of the way. Catching up on their lives and their losses. And Delaney discovered she and Avery were in very similar situations—simply put: limbo.

Avery rolled her window down, pulled the elastic band from her hair, and the dark-chocolate strands whipped in the wind. With her arm out the window, head back against the seat, eyes closed, and a smile on her lips, she looked utterly peaceful, which, surprisingly, brought quite a bit of peace to Delaney, too.

Avery breathed deep and opened her eyes, languidly soaking in the rolling hills and thick oaks. “God, this weather. I’ve missed these Indian summers. And the smells, mmm. It smells like—”

“Home. I noticed it, too,” Delaney finished, also smiling. “And you still look seventeen. Damn, you look great, Avery.”

She rolled her head toward Delaney with an exhausted smile. “So do you.”

“What do you think of Phoebe’s offer? I think your tasting is going to be a huge smash. When I tell you Phoebe knows everyone, their brother, and their brother’s second cousin, I’m not kidding. She’s got a hell of a lot of contacts that would really give you a kick-start. I think you’d do well with a space at the shop. You could have dual revenue streams from locals and tourists. If you build a website, you could do a decent mail-order business.”

“It sounds exciting, but, honestly, I’m so wrung out from the divorce, I’m not thinking in concrete, permanent ways right now. What about you? Phoebe says you could have half a dozen jobs lined up if you wanted to hang around after the bar is finished. Three bathroom remodels, two additions, and a custom home, plus something about a princess bed? Sounds like you’d have your hands full for quite a while.” Her voice lifted with an edge of singsong. “And a chatty little bird told me you’re brewing a sweet family feud with the hottest of the Hayes boys.”

“Brewing. Ha. Good one,” she deadpanned, irritated that Phoebe had blabbed, yet knowing exactly why.

“He definitely got first string in the genes department. The looks, the brains, and he was always so sweet.” Avery thought a second. “Maybe he was adopted.” Her brows shot up. “Or switched at birth.”

That made Delaney laugh out loud.

“I could picture it,” Avery said, her gaze going dreamily distant out the windshield. “You and Ethan with a sweet little construction company, living happily ever after and showing everyone in this town what jackasses they were all those years ago.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” Delaney tried to laugh off the uncomfortable tingle beneath her ribs. “I don’t do happily ever after. I have a better idea. You and I could split a six-pack, pull out a map of the world, close our eyes, and each pick a spot. Then choose the closest midpoint—on land of course, preferably some tropical island—and move there together. I can build; you can cook. No stress. No drama. What do you say?”

“I say that sounds like heaven right now.”

Delaney thought so, too, as she turned onto the property. “Hey, don’t mention the Ethan thing to anyone, okay?”

“Oh, God no,” she said with an as-if look that made Delaney grin.

But her smile dropped when she scanned the building, the construction site, and the lack of workers . . . working. “What the hell?”

Avery lifted her head from the seat and squinted toward the building. “Oh my God. Delaney. It looks . . . wow. It looks amazing. That siding is gorgeous, those big white windows and doors, the front porch, those dormers. Good Lord. I’m . . . I’m . . . this is so much more than I expected. I’m speechless.”

But Avery’s praise only half registered. The other half of Delaney’s brain was scanning for the source of the problem. This place should be buzzing like a hornet’s nest. Instead it felt like siesta time south of the border.

A tight feeling coiled in the pit of Delaney’s stomach as she pulled next to Trace’s truck. His driver’s door was open, and he was angled on the seat with one long leg stretched out, his work boot propped on the door handle.